


And if you really want to love me, well then, do it

by thewindupbird



Series: I love your bones [3]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 09:30:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12861684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewindupbird/pseuds/thewindupbird
Summary: part 1 of 2 of the final installment of this series!the title comes from the Okkervil River song "Maine Island Lovers."~*~This is a work of fiction and is in no way meant to depict the real lives of any persons involved.This comes from a place of love. Let's boogie, boys!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> part 1 of 2 of the final installment of this series!
> 
> the title comes from the Okkervil River song "Maine Island Lovers."
> 
> ~*~
> 
> This is a work of fiction and is in no way meant to depict the real lives of any persons involved. 
> 
> This comes from a place of love. Let's boogie, boys!

Shane wakes up to Ryan.  
  
Shane wakes up to Ryan, still fast asleep and stretched out beneath Shane’s sheets, his face just a few inches away. He is as close as he can be to Shane without touching him, and Shane knows what he looks like when he is sleeping — he looks like he does at every airport after filming — it’s nothing new. But this is different.  
  
He remembers how they got here, but he’s still too sleepy to be guarded, even against his own thoughts, and his hangover is looming and the words are in his brain before he can brace himself: _I wanted this._  
  
And maybe that’s okay. Because they both do, right?  
  
_Don’t make assumptions,_ he reminds himself. Just because this is a thing they’re talking about now, doesn’t mean it’s a thing where they feel the same way. Maybe this means something completely different to Ryan.  
  
But then, he knows Ryan. Ryan doesn’t enter into anything lightly, there’s always some feeling beneath everything he does. Ryan doesn’t have one night stands, Ryan doesn’t even go into fucking ghost houses without thinking that he, as small and terrified as he is, might be able to _help the ghosts_ and Shane hates that he finds that as endearing as he does, because it’s also fucking ridiculous. Ryan feels a lot. Too much, Shane thinks, sometimes. It’s like Ryan holds onto all the feeling the both of them need, his own, and Shane’s, and that’s what allows Shane to be as stoic as he is when they go ghost hunting.  
  
And, maybe, that’s what allows Shane to keep everything to himself, as always, because Ryan never pushes him in any of the places where it actually matters. And sometimes Shane’s angry at Ryan for that. That Ryan will poke and poke and poke at the ghost thing, and how they exist, but he’s never— he’s never once asked Shane to prove his friendship.  
  
He’s never once turned to Shane, after joking about how Shane would just leave him for the ghosts to eat, and asked ‘You wouldn’t really leave, would you?’ because if he just pushed enough, Shane might be able to say, _‘No, I never would,’_ and that would change something, maybe. But Ryan has never given him that opening.  
  
Shane hopes it’s because Ryan _knows_. That he doesn’t need it — that reassurance from Shane. Because Shane finds (and has found for some time now) that he would do _anything_ for Ryan.  
  
Shane hopes the reason Ryan hasn’t asked is not because Ryan doesn’t actually care about Shane’s loyalty, or because he actually doesn’t need Shane, at all, one way or the other.  
  
And he knows it should be easy… it should be so easy to just say that he cares about Ryan the way Ryan can just say it to him, or to anyone. They’re friends, after all. But it’s not— it’s not easy for Shane. Ryan can say things like _‘We took an oath,’_ with a smile on his face, and maybe he means it, and Shane… can’t.  
  
_‘The ghoul boys have a bond that can’t be broken,’_  
  
And Shane hopes to God, or whoever might be listening, that that’s true, and not just…  
  
He could just tell him, now, how he feels. He could just… say it, with his heart racing, way too fast for this early in the morning, and this hangover. Shane wets his lips and takes a soft breath to whisper, _Ryan_ , but he never gets the chance.  
  
Somewhere behind him, his alarm goes off, loud and jarring, and they both jump, but Shane’s rolled away before Ryan opens his eyes. Shane has to fumble his phone out of the pocket of his jeans which are in a heap on the floor. They slept in their t-shirts and underwear — it’s nothing new, really.  
  
“Ugh, make it stop,” Ryan groans behind him.  
  
Finally, silence falls. Shane drops his phone onto his jeans on the floor and presses his hands against his face. “Oh… shit,” he says, because he has a pounding headache. And he’s just going to pretend that his racing heartbeat is because he got up so fast. He’s going to forget everything he just thought.  
  
“Yeah,” Ryan agrees from behind him, and then, in a more ominous tone than Shane: “Oh shit.”  
  
“What?” Shane asks, trepidation creeping into his voice.  
  
“We have to go to work.”  
  
Shane makes a sound and gets up, stumbling slightly. He grabs a pillow and wallops Ryan with it and says “Get up. Get out of my bed.”  
  
Ryan tries to roll away from the assault, but he’s laughing, breathless and saying, “Oh God, stop, my brains will explode.”  
  
“Good,” Shane tells him, and wonders why it’s so easy to say this, and not to say what he really wants to.  
  
_Stop_ , he tells himself.  
  
He’s not doing this, today.

~*~

Ryan can’t go to work in the same clothes as yesterday, and he needs to shower, and Shane’s come back to his apartment with him, because…  
  
Actually, yeah, he’s not sure why Shane comes with him. Shane could walk to work. He walks from his apartment to work more often than Ryan cares to even imagine, not being a guy who really wants to walk anywhere.  
  
“Hurry up,” Shane tells him as they pull into Ryan’s parking spot at his place. “I want to have time to eat.”  
  
Ryan looks at him as he undoes his seatbelt and remembers how Shane had weaseled out of Ryan coming up to his yesterday, before they got drunk. He wonders if Shane getting drunk was the only reason Ryan was allowed up, afterwards, after the bar. Ryan thinks that he should point that out, but what he says when he opens his mouth is, “Aren’t you coming up?”  
  
He wishes Shane didn’t hesitate before he agrees.  
  
Neither of them bother with their contact lenses that day. They down some painkillers, grab take-out breakfast somewhere and roll into work just in time to not be late.  
  
Shane leaves him with breakfast spread out over their collective desks just a couple minutes after they get in. And then, for a second, his hand is warm and heavy on Ryan’s shoulder as he uses it to help push himself up from his chair which he collapsed in moments after arriving.  
  
“I’ll make coffee,” Shane says, and Ryan doesn’t know if it’s gratitude or something else, or both, that bursts warmly in his chest.

~*~

Shane doesn’t really think anything of it, the two of them arriving at work together. Why should he? They come to work together at least once a week. If he’s running a little late, usually all he has to do is text Ryan.  
  
It’s a little harder not to think about it when he sets a cup of coffee down in front of him, and settles in his own chair with his own. It’s a little harder not to think about the fact that he knows how Ryan takes his, and Shane didn’t just grab a handful of sugar packets and little milk containers like he would with anyone else.  
  
Coffee is personal. Other people don’t often get it right. It’s hard not to think that he’s being presumptuous, assuming he could get it right with Ryan.  
  
Ryan doesn’t say thank you, and Shane is fucking thankful for that, because somehow, thank you makes it wrong. They spend their days making jabs at one another, they have conversations that go nowhere, that will always go nowhere, because they don’t share the same beliefs.  
  
_How_ , Shane wonders, _could this possibly fucking work out?_  
  
And yet Shane can’t think of anyone else he’d rather spend time with. He can’t think of anyone else who he would rather back, no matter how stupid they’re acting, or how many ghosts they believe in.  
  
Sweet, polite Ryan takes his coffee from Shane and he doesn’t say thank you, and Shane is so ridiculously, profoundly grateful that he kind of makes himself want to throw up. And he realizes all at once that he’s not scared of starting something with Ryan, he’s scared of ending it. He’s scared that he is too cold, and too solitary, that he’s just too _different_ from Ryan to make this work.  
  
He wonders where the confidence he felt last night has gone. He wonders if it was only because he was drunk and stupid and— and fine, maybe he’s lonely, and maybe Ryan makes him feel less lonely…  
  
Shane wonders if he should have reigned it in, last night. If he should have thought harder before he invited Ryan into his bed (even just to sleep), if he should have thought before he kissed him, before he told him that this was, indeed, A Thing even if they hadn’t meant for it to be, before he asked him out for drinks, before he decided to do this show in the first place.  
  
Before he looked over at Ryan one day and—  
  
“Oh shit,” Ryan says beside him now, leaning closer to his computer screen. He reaches out and hits Shane’s arm gently to get his attention and, excited, almost childlike he starts reading about spook lights and wooded paths and spirit boxing and all of the paranormal shit investigators have supposedly found in this place they’re assigned to go, and Shane just—  
  
Shane just looks at him and thinks _All these doubts you’re having are excuses_ , and he can’t argue with that. But it’s harder to think of just him and Ryan, out here, when the rest of the world surrounds them in it’s loud, fast-moving, forward-propelling way. When they aren’t protected by the familiar walls of Shane’s cramped apartment, and the bravery of alcohol, and the secrecy of night-time, and the very _real_ ghosts of the feeling of their hands and mouths, still half-lingering on one another’s skin.  
  
Ryan finishes reading and looks at him, and he’s all bright eyes and elation — he’s coasting on the thrill of ghost hunting when it’s bright and safe and daylight.  
  
Ryan lives in this vibrant daytime world. Ryan is light and sound and forward-motion and Shane know that _he_ is quieter, and stiller, and darker.  
  
“Meh— I—” Shane begins, because he hadn’t been listening, and Ryan rolls his eyes, because he mistakes it for Shane being a skeptic again (which he is), but then:  
  
“Come on, big guy,” Ryan says, and he reaches out, for a moment, and his fingers wrap warmly around Shane’s wrist, just where the denim of his jacket meets the sleeve of his shirt meets his skin. “You know you want to,” Ryan says and there’s a little more mischief there than there should be, isn’t there? Shane raises his eyes from Ryan’s fingers to his face, just to be sure, and his breath hitches quietly, but he’s sure his heart skips, and maybe Ryan can feel it against his fingertips.  
  
“Spook lights,” Shane says. “Shoddy evidence.” Ryan’s already laughing, a little breathier than usual, and so Shane continues. “Another sleepless night surrounded by cobwebs and rats, breathing dust. Oh boy! Where do I sign up?”  
  
Ryan leans back in his chair, wheezing. He lets go of Shane to slap his own leg, his laughter bubbling up from the very centre of him and Shane thinks about how badly he wants to step into that light and warmth — not just for a little while, but forever — and belong there.  
  
He can’t keep making these excuses anymore.

~*~

For whatever reason, Shane is often the person that people grab for last-minute emergency help. Maybe it’s because he looks vaguely like a college professor, or because he towers over basically everyone and so, should have some authority or something, or maybe it’s because Shane’s actually kind of nice. To other people, Ryan thinks. But either way, it’s Eugene who shows up at their desks, late afternoon and, without preamble says to Shane “I need you.”  
  
Ryan hears it though his headphones and furrows his brow and glances over. He and Shane both take their headphones off at the same time and Shane spins to face Eugene, who has a hand on his shoulder, and says “Okay.”  
  
“Great,” Eugene says, clapping his hands together and already backing away, needing to run off somewhere else. “Studio 6, boom mic’s already there. Two minutes, please and thank you!”  
  
And weirdly, absurdly, Ryan feels sort of… jealous. Not of Eugene, but of Shane’s time. He catches Shane’s eyes as they both turn back to their screens. Shane vaguely starts sorting things on his desk into a disordered pile, pockets his phone, Whatever Eugene wants is going to take some time to get right (which it will, it’s Eugene), especially if it involves sound, which it sounds like it does. There’s forty-five minutes to the end of the work day and Ryan had thought— it would be easy to just ask Shane to do something, go somewhere with him as they both packed up to go home for the night. It would be casual, then, and not awkward, which he’s been desperately trying to avoid. Awkward sucks.  
  
Shane gives him a look like _Oh well, that sucks_ , because now he’s condemned to staying late, and looks back at his computer, the light reflecting in his glasses, and Ryan thinks _Okay, whatever_ , and he’s just turning back to his own screen when Shane takes a breath and says “What are you doing, t— after? Work. After work.”  
  
Ryan hesitates, holding one headphone over his ear, the other still hanging around his neck. “Probably home, food, Netflix,” Ryan says.  
  
“Oh,” says Shane, nodding like that’s interesting at all which, Ryan knows, it’s not. “Cool.”  
  
“Cool?” Ryan asks, giggling a little, but the laugh doesn’t quite reach his eyes.  
  
“Yeah. Cool,” says Shane, without looking at him. “I like food and Netflix. And home.”  
  
Ryan debates for a second whether or not to take the bait, and does. “Are you trying to get me to invite you along?”  
  
“Oh, you want me to come? You could have just said—”  
  
“No, you— wait, hang on, you fucking dick,” Ryan says, but Shane’s laughing, and Ryan stops talking, just to hear it.  
  
“Okay,” Shane says, “Sure. Thanks for the invite.”  
  
“You invited _yourself_ , you piece of shit,” Ryan says, but they’re both sort of grinning, even as Shane turns to go.  
  
“Wait— wh— I’m not gonna wait for you!” Ryan calls after him. “If you were looking for a drive, too!”  
  
Shane just waves and disappears into the hallway where the elevators are.  
  
Ryan spins back to his computer and pulls his headphones on, still smiling.

~*~

It’s seven thirty by the time Eugene’s crew starts packing up, and Shane’s already taken his headphones off and is texting Ryan to say he’s just leaving now. Text sent, he starts packing up the sound equipment, and the cameras and lights are put away. On their way out, a few people tell him that they’re going to go grab a few drinks if he wants to come along.  
  
“Uh, thanks, maybe,” Shane responds. They leave and, for a moment, he’s alone. He gives it a second, thinking he’ll wait for their elevator to take them upstairs before he goes out. He can just escape quietly without being rude.  
  
Eugene appears in the doorway, just as Shane makes his way towards it, surprising him a little. “Hey. Thanks, Shane, seriously, you saved me,” Eugene says.  
  
“No problem,” Shane answers, smiling a little, and they make their way to the now empty elevator together.  
  
“So are you going on your date now?” Eugene asks, and Shane looks up just in time to see that shit-eating grin Eugene has.  
  
“Date?” he repeats, pushing the button for the second floor, voice rising pleasantly into a casual question.  
  
“You and Bergara,” Eugene tells him, and it’s ambiguous, Shane realises, because they all joke about this all the time. All these guys working together, traveling together, sharing hotel rooms…  
  
“Yeah, we’re going on a date,” he says, playing along, and pretends it doesn’t make his stomach do something a little strange. Shane sort of hates the idea of dating, but the implications of that word…  
  
“Wait, really?” Eugene asks, and Shane raises his eyebrows at him.  
  
“What? No,” Shane says, not sure if he’s protecting Ryan who isn’t out or even certain about it, or if he’s protecting himself, or both of them. “I was kidding.”  
  
Eugene raises an eyebrow in an infuriatingly perfect expression of _‘oh really’_ that Shane _wishes_ he could achieve.  
  
“Ryan likes you,” Eugene tells him, and Shane goes tense. He takes off his glasses for an excuse to hide his expression, scrubbing at his eyes like he’s tired.  
  
“No he doesn’t. It’s just— we work together, we hang out together, you know how it is,” he deflects as he slides his glasses back on, putting some of this on Eugene, too. Eugene and Zach and the other Try Guys…  
  
“Yeah, and.” Eugene says. The elevator dings. The doors take an eternity to open. They both step out into the hallway and Shane makes a B-line for his desk. Eugene follows, quiet and unspeaking and somehow all the more intimidating for it. Shane finds himself still talking, still trying to convince Eugene when, really, it shouldn’t matter. “That’s all it is. We’re just together all the time. We like the same… movies,” he supplies, as he shuts off his screen and turns around, ready to get the fuck out of there.  
  
“So,” Eugene says, “What’s the issue?”  
  
Shane furrows his brow. “There’s no issue…” And he thinks, privately, that it’s none of Eugene’s business, really, but then, is he just being defensive? He doesn’t want to look like he’s being defensive. And Eugene is still looking at him, waiting for more, and Shane just— suddenly the words spill out of him, because maybe he’s needed someone to talk to for a while now. Like, how he wanted to ask Daysha for help yesterday, and then he didn’t, and then he went and kissed Ryan again, and backed out _again_ and he wonders how long Ryan’s going to put up with that kind of shit. “He’s just used to me,” Shane says, finally voicing something that’s been eating away at him, something he hasn’t really let himself think about too much.  
  
But there’s something about Eugene, too — something quiet and secreted away that Shane feels like they might share the experience of, just in very different ways. And he gives in. “He’s just used to me being around, now, because I’m around him all the time. We’ve got— we work together. It’s the circumstances,” he explains, piecing it together into something cohesive as he talks, this fear. “It’s not _me_ he—”  
  
“Shane,” Eugene says. He says it completely deadpan, and a silence falls between them. Shane swallows and wishes that time machines were real so he could go back and fix this situation. “You’re a smart guy,” Eugene tells him. “All logical and shit.”  
  
Shane actually breathes a laugh.  
  
“Have you actually been paying attention at all? I mean, the way he laughs when he’s with you — that alone, should be—”  
  
Shane scoffs softly. “He’s like that with _everyone,_ ” he argues. “He’s just like that.”  
  
Eugene actually smiles. He sort of does it like he thinks Shane is an idiot, and also like he feels bad for him, and Shane thinks it’s the most expression he’s ever seen Eugene make.  
  
“No,” Eugene tells him. “No, he’s not.” Eugene looks at his watch. “Anyway. I’ve got to dash.” He says this as though he’s in some 1920s film and Shane feels very much like the whole world is careering a little crazily around him and doesn’t say anything at all.  
  
“Have fun on your date” Eugene tells him. “Play your cards right.”  
  
And then he’s gone and Shane’s left standing alone in the empty offices of BuzzFeed mentally reeling a little.

___

It doesn’t even cross Shane’s mind, as he makes his way to Ryan’s, that Eugene will talk about this, because he won’t. Eugene doesn’t gossip, and there’s also something… there’s something in Eugene’s stoicism that Shane understands. Or at least, maybe, he understands something of the foundations beneath it.

~*~

Ryan can tell something’s up the second Shane appears on his doorstep, but he doesn’t press the issue. He goes easy on him and keeps all the ghostly information the intern’s sent to him about their next haunted destination to himself, for now. He’ll annoy him with it later, when Shane’s expression is a little bit brighter.  
  
But truthfully, Ryan’s freaked out again. He wishes they had some better, more solid understanding of where this whole thing’s going. He partially thinks that he doesn’t give a shit, as long as they stay friends. Maybe he wants more from their friendship, but he wants Shane in his life more than he wants even that. And maybe that’s the safest bet, and maybe that’s just the way this whole thing’s going to go. Sometimes things seem so promising — they bubble up to the very brim, and then they recede instead of spilling over. It doesn’t mean they’re bad. They’ve gone on ghost hunts like that, and Ryan maintains his optimism. It’s fine, he tells himself. Maybe things are just supposed to be that way.  
  
And after all, no matter what’s wrong, Shane’s still here. He’s still come over. So isn’t that enough?  
  
They’re up into the next morning, again, when the credits of their second movie roll. Ryan’s been so in his head that he has no idea what’s actually been going on onscreen. Beside him, a foot or so away, Shane leans forward to pick his phone up off the coffee table and check the time.  
  
Ryan waits for Shane’s inevitable sentence that starts with ' _it’s late'_ and ends with ' _I’ll just get an Uber'_ and realises how much he doesn’t want to hear it. He gets up and takes the mostly-empty bowl of popcorn to put it in the sink and, as he passes in front of Shane, Shane says, “You know, it’s ridiculous, but I would probably do anything for you.”  
  
Ryan almost drops the bowl.  
  
Floored, he turns back, dark eyes a little wide. Shane’s not looking at him. His eyes are on his phone screen. When it goes black, he taps it, but it’s just his home screen, and he does nothing.  
  
Ryan does the only thing he can think to do which is to breathe a laugh that doesn’t reach his face at all — it’s more of just an exhale of air. “Are you fucking with me?” he asks, voice a little too quiet.  
  
“No,” Shane tells him, finally looking up, leaning back into Ryan’s couch. “I sort of wish I were, but I’m not.”  
  
Ryan has no idea what to say, and fucking Shane looks so goddamn self-possessed and he wishes he weren’t standing here like an idiot, in his sweatpants and a t-shirt holding a popcorn bowl.  
  
“Are you— like, leaving the show or something?” he finally manages. He doesn’t voice the worse thoughts: are you leaving BuzzFeed, Los Angeles, are you dying? Why else would Shane Madej fucking say something like that?  
  
Shane looks confused for a second, then shakes his head. “No, I just… wanted to say that. So— now let’s just pretend like I didn’t, huh? That’ll make things a whole lot easier. Anyway, it’s late. I should probably get an Uber or—” He bends over his phone.  
  
“Whoa, hey, fuck you, man,” Ryan says, shaking his head. “You can’t just say that kind of— and then go ‘I’ll get an Uber’, holy shit, dude.” He knows he sounds breathless and half-scared. He can hear himself, but at least his voice isn’t shaking.  
  
“Why can’t I say that?” Shane asks, like it’s a normal question.  
  
“Do you know how human beings work at all?” Ryan asks him. He moves to shove the bowl onto the kitchen counter and then he’s back, reaching down and pulling the phone from Shane’s hand. Shane lets him, sort of shrugs like _whatever_ , and leans back again. “You can’t just say shit like that.”  
  
“Why not? I just did. I meant it.”  
  
“Okay, but— now you’re just going to leave?!”  
  
“It’s late—”  
  
“Why? Do you have a curfew or something? _Jesus Christ_ , Shane.”  
  
“Why’re you freaking out like this?” Shane asks, and he’s half laughing, and then he stands like he’s going to come over, like he does at the haunted places — always coming close to Ryan, but almost never touching him. Like he wants to protect him, but doesn’t know how, or whether he should.  
  
It’s not like Ryan doesn’t notice.

~*~

Shane goes closer, but he doesn’t touch him, but at least, now, they are on the same side of the coffee table.  
  
“If I said that to you, _'I’d do anything for you,’_ out of nowhere, you’re telling me you _wouldn’t?_ ” Ryan asks him, and Shane has to catch his breath.  
  
“I’m just saying— I was just _saying_. I’m not looking for anything back— I guess, maybe I just thought I should— I’d never actually— I mean if you were kidnapped by the Men in Black for _real_ or something, I’d— I’d probably put up missing posters.”  
  
“ _Missing posters?_ ” Ryan asks, and his voice is shaking now, but at least this time, it’s laughter.  
  
“At the very least,” Shane assures him.  
  
“Well good. Because I’d— fucking do anything for you, too. Because I’m insane, apparently, _not_ because you’d deserve it.”  
  
Shane’s more stricken than he should be, especially because there was a not-so-veiled insult mixed into all that, but he barely heard it.  
  
And ultimately, Ryan hadn’t meant him to.  
  
“Oh,” he says. “Great.” It comes out shaky.  
  
“I hate you,” Ryan breathes, looking away. He reaches up to rub the back of his neck like all this stress is making his muscles ache.  
  
“Sorry,” Shane says, softly. “I’m just like this.”  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Ryan says. “And I must be completely insane not to mind.”  
  
“You know, you could go waste all your time with someone else,” Shane informs him, his heart hammering against his ribs in a way that makes him feel sick.  
  
“That,” Ryan says, “Is probably one of the worst ideas you’ve ever had. Just— just shut up, Shane.”  
  
“Okay,” Shane says, soft, as relief floods his chest.  
  
“I sort of want to kiss you, but I kind of feel like I want to throw up,” Ryan says, and Shane laughs, all nervous jittery energy.  
  
“Because you’re disgusted with yourself?”  
  
“Because you just dropped that on me like a ton of bricks and I’m still freaking out.” Ryan looks up at him, and Shane can see how fast he’s breathing. “And your face makes me sick,” Ryan adds.  
  
Shane shakes his head. “I don’t care, deal with it,” he says and closes the distance to him, and this time, they meet each other in the middle, instead of just searching through the dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part 2/2 of the final installment of this series

The next morning, Shane wakes up first, like always.  
  
Unlike always, he realises that that’s a thought he doesn’t usually have — not usually having someone to wake up with.  
  
He’s slept in Ryan’s bed, this time, and this time, he has the presence of mind to shut his alarm off before it rings. Part of him is relieved to wake up without a hangover, and relieved to wake up with the knowledge that they don’t have to deal with the morning after, because nothing happened between them.  
  
Another part of him feels like he’s slowly dying because of that very same fact, but truth be told, it’s not like he knows any better now than he did at nineteen, what the hell to do in order to sleep with a guy. Not practically, anyway.  
  
Of course, he knows in _theory._ The internet is a wonderful place, for many reasons, but it’s not like he’s actively practiced it. Sex with men. Not since then. He also wonders if this is even a thing he should be thinking about, because it’s not like… well… he’s being presumptuous again.  
  
He definitely wishes he weren’t thinking about it now, here, in Ryan’s bed because that’s making several things feel a lot more difficult.  
  
He’s just thinking about getting up and at least putting yesterday's jeans back on because maybe the February chill outside Ryan’s warm bed will at least make him shiver himself into not being this hard. Sometimes the human body is ridiculously inconvenient. Sometimes he thinks it’s just there to keep people’s minds out of the dirt and the elements. His body begs to differ, however, when Ryan shifts and makes a soft sound in his sleep and Shane swallows and shifts to get up.  
  
“What time is it?” Ryan asks, before Shane’s even twisted away from him fully.  
  
“Uh, six-ish,” Shane responds, which is the time his alarm usually goes off.  
  
“Why d’you get up so early?” Ryan grumbles, and Shane laughs and moves to sit up, and then Ryan’s speaking again, voice low, still mostly-asleep. “Just stay for a second.”  
  
So Shane does. The room is cold, Ryan’s bed is warm, and it’s barely light yet. It isn’t hard to convince him.  
  
He’s actually almost drifting off again, lulled by the warmth and Ryan’s breathing when Ryan asks, voice a little clearer than before, “Why don’t you want to start anything with me?”  
  
Shane’s eyes shoot open. “What?”  
  
Ryan frowns, and Shane can see he’s awake, but he hasn’t opened his eyes yet — probably just so he doesn’t have to meet Shane’s. “Whenever I try to do anything other than kiss you, you pull away. You did it last night, too.”  
  
“You always expect to fuck on a first date?” Shane teases, despite the tension he can feel in his chest.  
  
“It’s just that,” Ryan says, and his brown eyes flicker open and lock right on Shane’s. “I mean, I’ve practically gone farther with dudes whose names I don’t even know.”  
  
“You mean once?” Shane asks, “At your gay bar?”  
  
Ryan tilts his head against the pillow and Shane relents, and takes the question seriously. “I dunno, Ryan, it just doesn’t seem… that’s a line, you know? You can’t cross the line and then change your mind.”  
  
“You gonna change your mind on me, Madej?” Ryan asks him.  
  
“I might,” Shane tells him. “You might.”  
  
“Or not,” Ryan responds, and then he reaches for him, and Shane gasps softly as Ryan’s fingers slide, almost hot, beneath the material of his t-shirt and over his side. He shuts his eyes. Ryan spreads his fingers over the small of Shane’s back and pulls, just a little, but then relents, his fingertips just barely brushing Shane’s skin.

~*~

Ryan’s suddenly stricken with uncertainty and doubt, again. “I also… if you don’t want to, that’s fine—” he begins, uncertain, not wanting to push, but Shane breathes “I want to,” and Ryan shivers.  
  
“Fuck, I just got chills.”  
  
“Am I that spooky?” Shane asks, but then he is shifting, and suddenly his long, lanky body is pressed up against Ryan and whatever Ryan was going to say about chills not always meaning _freaked out_ is lost as Shane kisses him.  
  
For all their waiting, all their uncertainty and pulling away, this escalates quickly. Shane’s fingers slide down his back and over his hip and then disappear. Ryan kisses Shane harder, more insistent, not willing to be outdone just because Shane knows what the fuck he’s doing when it comes to ‘messing around’ with guys. He can feel how willing Shane is at the same time as he can feel the tension in him. He knows its tension because he can feel it in himself, and it’s making them both just _shake_. He’s glad Shane’s shivering too, maybe even more than Ryan is, because he knows, now, that Shane can’t say anything about him _quivering_.  
  
“Are you thinking about the lipstick video?” Shane asks, sudden and low, mouth against Ryan’s cheek and Ryan wheezes, because he was. For a handful of seconds, the moment breaks, and they are both laughing almost silently, like they might disturb someone, but they are the only ones here. Really, they’re both just a little scared of breaking the moment, sending it scattering and irretrievable across the cracks of some imaginary floor.  
  
Ryan makes the final plunge first, his hand sliding down over Shane’s lower belly until he finds the hard length of his cock beneath the fabric of his underwear and Shane makes this _sound_ Ryan’s never heard before and he moans against Shane’s mouth involuntarily.  
  
That’s all it takes. Something seems to crack in Shane, or at least between them, and Shane’s fingers slip between his skin and his underwear and, in this choked voice he says “Can I?” and Ryan almost fucking dies. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nods and Shane’s breath shudders from his lungs as he pulls away and scrambles back to kneeling, pulling Ryan’s underwear down his legs.

~*~

“You’d better fucking—” Ryan breathes and Shane meets his eyes, questioning, before he understands, and pulls off his own t-shirt, pushes his own underwear down. It’s not as awkward as it might have been because, beside him, Ryan’s pulling his own shirt off, and for a second, they’re kind of detached, and then Shane looks up and has to go still for a second because it’s just— it’s a lot. It’s too much. Ryan’s beautiful, of course. Of course, he would be, and Shane suddenly feels too pale and too lanky and sort of crooked next to him.  
  
“You really are eighty percent leg, huh?” Ryan breathes and Shane exhales and gives him a playfully dark look, but yeah, he is, and he’s feeling every inch of his awkward height, and his bony limbs, and then Ryan says. “Come back,” and Shane watches Ryan’s eyes flicker over him in this way that banishes his doubts. Like witchcraft.  
  
He goes.

___

It wasn’t _sex._ Not in the strictest sense of the word.  
  
It is evening, and Shane is remembering that morning as he stands in the overly-hot water of his own shower. He’s come home by himself because tomorrow morning, before sunrise, Ryan will pick him up, and they will head off to the airport for their next ghostly adventure, and they both needed time to shower and pack and find passports, and wash dishes or whatever before they go, and they both know that most, or all of those things that need to get done possibly — probably — won’t happen if they’re together this evening.  
  
So Shane is showering in an attempt at functioning like a normal human being which he’s been sort of failing at all day. Honestly, he tried all day at work to not remember it, because the little flashes he kept getting of Ryan gasping into Shane’s neck, of Ryan spilling hotly into the curve of Shane’s fingers around both their cocks — well. That was a little distracting. To say the least.  
  
And now he feels this horrible kind of ache when Ryan is not with him which, he finally admits to himself, was always sort of there — only now the full extent of it has been revealed to him, enmassed and more powerful because of the intensity of what had passed between them that morning.  
  
There are times when Shane finds sex to be… just something. Something nice. Something nice to do with someone nice that really is not so different from holding hands, or eating pie, or drinking a really good cup of tea. Sometimes he feels differently. Sometimes sex is the best thing you can do with a person but, when it’s over, it’s best to just clean up, get dressed, and get out. That’s fine. He’s fine with being like that. And it’s been a while since Shane can even really remember the last time sex for him wasn’t just fucking for fucking’s sake, or just a nice thing to do. Maybe you’re sort of bored, maybe you just don’t really want to get out of bed and there’s another person you kind of care about handy… it’s like that.  
  
That all feels like a long time ago, now.  
  
With Ryan, it wasn’t just sex (or almost-sex), and that’s the thing. That’s the thing that gets Shane the most. Sure, the actual moments, the feeling of it was fucking intense, but afterwards… after, both of them breathless and dazed, Ryan had said “Um— just a word of warning, and not to like, assume or whatever, but if we do eventually fuck for real, my brain might actually explode,” and maybe it was the fact that the’d just came, mingled with the further release of tension with Ryan’s words, or the fact that he said it so _seriously_ , but Shane started laughing so hard that tears came to his eyes and Ryan, similarly, came undone. When they had finally gathered themselves enough to look at each other, it had just been so— so _simple_ and so good that Shane thought that it didn’t matter what they held between them: whether it was intense fucking, born from want and longing, or just something nice to do on a cold morning, or if they never reached out and touched one another like that again… it didn’t matter, as long as he could hear Ryan laugh like that, as long as he could be at his side, as long as he could be the one that Ryan looked to, before he made one of his stupid jokes… that was enough. That was fucking more than enough.

~*~

If Shane doesn’t reach out for him, either when he’s scared or uncertain, that’s one thing, Ryan tells himself. Even though he always reaches for Shane, it doesn’t matter if it’s not exactly the same. They’re really different people, they don’t need to feel the same things.  
  
These are the thoughts Ryan’s having in the uncertain darkness of four in the morning, busting around his apartment grabbing last minute things before he head out to pick up Shane and head to the airport. These thoughts are a little different from the blissed-out thoughts he’d had all yesterday, but he’s kind of proud of himself for being an adult and getting things together last night, rather than going to Shane’s, or having Shane over to— to do that again.  
  
It’s weird, a bit, because it really was kind of just a hand job, only he’s sure he’s never been that turned on before, and the slide and press of Shane’s cock against his, Shane’s long fingers around them both, that was something he didn’t expect to get over anytime soon.  
  
It’s enough to make him not even give a shit if he’s gay or not. It’s just Shane. As long as it’s Shane, he doesn’t even feel like he has to worry about it.  
  
Honestly, though, Ryan doesn’t know what makes his stomach flip over more — the fact that Shane had told him he would do anything for him, or the little sounds he’d tried to hold back, but made under his breath just before he came. It was a side of Shane Ryan hadn’t ever seen, and he wanted to see it again. Shane watched Ryan come apart all the time, albeit usually with fear. It actually wasn’t such a huge step for Shane to see him come apart another, far more intimate way.  
  
Ryan sort of wants to be the one to make Shane fall apart, too. He wants to be the person that can do that, the person Shane _trusts_ enough, that he could let himself.  
  
“Oh, Jesus,” Ryan murmurs to himself under his breath. He takes a breath, centres himself, then shoulders his things and locks up, heading out to his car.

___

There is a little awkwardness as Shane jogs out, throws his things into the trunk with Ryan’s, and then folds himself and his ridiculous long legs into the passenger seat beside Ryan. He pulls the door shut and they look at each other as the overhead light dims and goes out.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
“Hey.”  
  
Ryan makes an aborted movement to take the wheel again, but Shane says, “No— wait,” and Ryan looks back in time for Shane to kiss him, too hard, too chaste, but on the mouth nonetheless. He pulls back looking rather proud of himself, like he knows that wasn’t what Ryan wanted. It wasn’t what either of them wanted, but it is stepping over that line once again, connecting them across the uncertainty between them in a way that is solid and real. Maybe they will have to do it each time they allow space to come between them, every time they meet after being apart. Maybe that is just what is in store for them. Maybe they’ve been friends too long, maybe…  
  
Maybe.  
  
It makes Ryan laugh anyway. “You smug bastard,” he murmurs and, grinning, pulls back out onto the street.

~*~

Too many hours later, they’re both sort of miserable. It’s raining and cold, and they’ve been out in these woods for hours. Shane’s boots are soaked all the way through, and there is no sign of spook lights, or any lights, really, except for their own, and even though he didn’t expect _ghosts_ it’s a bit of a fucking disappointment.  
  
“As anticipated,” Shane murmurs softly to the camera. “Nothing’s happening.”  
  
“Shut up, Shane,” Ryan says.  
  
The rain rains harder, as if to spite them.  
  
They free the crew to the warmth and comfort of the hotel because, as discussed, Shane and Ryan are going to do some ghost busting alone, because lately, they’ve been getting nothing. Shane thinks it’s a last-ditch attempt to save the Boogara’s collective pride, and Ryan’s. But, he thinks, as the sound equipment is gratefully handed off to him, he’ll fucking do it for Ryan. And he won’t even complain about it.  
  
Still, they meet one another’s eyes as the crews’ tail lights disappear into the distance like they’re both headed to the gallows. Ryan, because he’s scared as fuck and Shane, because he thinks they might actually catch pneumonia out here, and die. He longs to get into the rental car that they'll take back to the hotel, later, if only to turn the heat on in it for five minutes. It’s a lot fucking colder out here than it is in California.  
  
“I need to start going back to Illinois more,” Shane mumbles as they make their way together into the woods. At least the trees block some of the rain. “I’m starting to feel like a wimp when it comes to the cold.”  
  
Ryan breathes a laugh, but doesn’t really respond.  
  
Ryan continues his story for the cameras about these supposed orbs that are supposed to float around here, luring unsuspecting hikers to their deaths or something, and Shane follows him, occasionally checking the sound through the mics, and wondering what kind of idiots they are, that they are out here _looking_ for something like that. Maybe they shouldn’t have sent the crew off. There’s lots of things to be scared of in the woods that are worse than strange, pretty lights.  
  
“Aren’t you worried about bears?” Shane teases.  
  
“Bears are hibernating,” Ryan says, but he sound unsure.  
  
“Let’s hope so. Let’s hope we don’t wake any up, crashing around in the dark like this. They’ll probably be pretty hungry.”  
  
“I’ll run,” Ryan says. “I’ll leave you behind. You’ll get all your limbs tangled up in the low-hanging branches and the underbrush, and I’ll escape.”  
  
“Yeah, probably,” Shane agrees, without much emotion one way or the other.  
  
It’s probably an hour later when Shane finally breaks and says, “I don’t think we’re going to find any spooky lights, Ryan.”  
  
“Yeah,” Ryan says. “You’re probably right.  
  
Behind him, there’s a loud snap and Ryan wheels around. Shane crosses the distance to him, standing just at his back, but not touching him, both of them staring into the trees. Shane shines his light in there, but they can’t see anything, just how hard it’s raining, as the drops catch the flashlight beam.  
  
“Huh.” Shane says.  
  
Ryan sighs heavily. “Okay. Fuck this. Let’s get the fuck out of _this_ spot,” Ryan says and moves to head back. He steps backwards, and Shane smoothly steps aside to avoid him. It’s instinctive, usually the crew is here, and also, they’re still filming. If Ryan notices, he doesn’t say anything.  
  
They turn and head back in the general direction of the car, but they’re meandering a little. Even Shane wants something now — Ryan just looks so defeated. Maybe there will be something on the audio recorders, he thinks, but a part of him is also wondering _wouldn’t it be cool to see_ something? He often wonders what it is about him that seems to make Ryan’s little ghosts and spectres so evasive. He’s a skeptic, sure, but it’s not like he’s completely closed-minded. He’s not. He wonders what it would be like, to have a belief in something, anything, like Ryan does. ( _Stressful_ , his mind supplies.)  
  
“Hey, d’you ever think that maybe it’s because of me that nothing ever shows up?” Shane asks, hopping over a smaller fallen tree and catching up to Ryan to walk at his side instead of behind him.  
  
“All the time,” Ryan tells him, and Shane doesn’t expect that to sting, but it does.  
  
“Uh oh,” he says, “Time for a new co-host.”  
  
“Maybe I should be doing these investigations alone,” Ryan says. He looks freezing and miserable, Shane thinks, but says nothing. Something’s hanging between them. “Although, I’d probably have a heart attack and die.”  
  
“Oh, you _definitely_ would,” Shane says.  
  
Ryan laughs once, a little hollowly. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”  
  
“I’m just stating the facts.”  
  
“Yeah, could you maybe give that a rest for five seconds?” Ryan asks, and Shane blinks, startled, and shakes his head a little.  
  
“Okay,” he says, soft.  
  
“I just mean— like if it’s only ever going to be me actually believing—”  
  
“I talk to them!” Shane says. “I try to make them come out or whatever—”  
  
“No, you talk to the air, and make stupid jokes,” Ryan says.  
  
Shane stops and lets Ryan get a few steps ahead. Ryan doesn’t turn back for a second, but when he does, Shane bites his lip, tasting rain.  
  
“I don’t want you to think this is complete bullshit all the time,” Ryan tells him. “I’m tired of having to fight and fight for someone to be on my side with this.”  
  
“Well, Ryan, that’s not me,” Shane tells him.  
  
“It's just— sometimes it’s so _tiring_ to always be the one who’s freaked out, like maybe it’d be nice for you to show an emotion out here, for once.”  
  
“What— What do you want me to do, Ryan? Scream and run from every little sound? That’s not helpful whether or not I believe in fucking ghosts.”  
  
“Fuck _ghosts_ ,” Ryan says. “Can’t you let yourself be vulnerable for a second? Even when it’s just me?”  
  
“ _What?_ This— okay,” Shane says. “We’re not talking about ghosts. What do you want from me?”  
  
“I want you to— I don’t know, just trust me enough to, for once, not have this fucking mask on all the time. You know, reach out—”  
  
“Have you _been here_? These past few weeks— this _is_ me reaching out to you, Ryan! I don’t know what else you want! Jesus… turn the fucking cameras off…”  
  
Ryan stares at him for a moment, and then he does, and Shane fiddles with his mic, shutting it down. Shutting off the audio recorder. It really is just them, now, and whatever spooks or animals haunt these woods.  
  
There’s silence between them, apart from the rain, and then Ryan says “I’m fucking scared that I want more from this than you do, okay? Because you don’t ever let yourself feel anything.”  
  
“Okay, Ryan, sure,” Shane says.  
  
“No— fuck you, man, you’re always the one that gets to be frustrated, now it’s my turn, and I’m fucking telling you, I’m not— I don’t want to do this unless you’re actually going to be fucking _in_ it.”  
  
“I _am_!” Shane says, and his voice shakes. He takes a breath and calms himself down. “What do you want me to say?”  
  
“If I tell you what I want you to say, it doesn’t matter if you say it then,” Ryan tells him. “You’re just repeating—”  
  
Shane throws his hands into the air and half turns away, but the only thing back there is acres and acres of cold, wet forest, and he doesn’t want to go traipsing off into that. He also doesn’t want to leave Ryan, and that—  
  
“All right,” he says, turning back. “All right, Ryan, here: I’d rather stand here in the fucking woods in the middle of the night and argue with you, than be at home and comfortable and _warm_ because I give a shit what you think. I’ve always hated other people in my space until _you_ came along and fucked with everything, and now I want you in my fucking apartment all the time; I _miss_ you when you’re not there, I want you to just _be_ there without— having to come up with a reason why I should invite you every time, it’s _exhausting_. I want to know how the hell I can tell you what I did the other night and have you understand what saying that _means_ for me and still not— do you think I just go around telling everyone that?”  
  
“No, I—”  
  
Shane waits for Ryan to finish the sentence, but he doesn’t. They hold each other’s eyes, both of them just breathing, a little too fast.  
  
“Fuck this rain,” Ryan says, finally. “We’re not going to find anything out here, let’s just go back.”  
  
Shane takes one final, shaking, calming breath, and nods, and they go.  
  
It takes forever to walk back to the car, and they are quiet. The rain sounds louder on the roof than it did outside, as they shut themselves in and Ryan presses his hands between his thighs to warm them before he can take hold of the steering wheel. Shane watches him from the corner of his eye.  
  
“I’m actually,” Ryan begins, and he sounds weary and a little hoarse “really stupidly fucking in love with you.”  
  
Shane closes his eyes for a moment and just lets that wash over him, before he says, quietly, “I know.”  
  
He reaches back for his seatbelt and pulls it on, his fingers brushing the cold metal, the familiar fabric of his jean-jacket, completely soaked through. It grounds him a little. This is real. “Me too.”  
  
Ryan sighs with relief and puts both hands on top of the steering wheel, leaning forward to rest his forehead against them. “Thank Jesus,” he whispers, and Shane finds himself laughing softly, fondly.  
  
“All right, Ryan,” he says. “Let’s go.”

~*~

Maybe it’s inevitable.  
  
They argue — shivering in the hallway, as Ryan searches for the room card in his pocket — over who will use the shower first.  
  
In the end though, neither of them use it. They get their shoes off and peel their soaked clothes away from their skin, and it’s a fucking task.  
  
“Okay, I’m stuck,” Shane says, from inside his sweater and Ryan breaks into gales of laughter before he finally goes to help him. As Shane finally struggles free, stumbling back to sit down on one of the beds, Ryan catches his eyes and drops Shane’s sweater to the floor with a splat. Shane reaches out, and Ryan steps forward. His hand slides over Shane’s shoulder, and their skin is cold, and Shane spreads his legs a little for Ryan to step between them. For once, Shane has to tilt his his head up to be kissed. Ryan still hasn’t quite finished laughing. He makes a soft sound against Shane’s mouth, and Shane swallows it.  
  
Ryan hadn’t expected it to go like this, but then, he hadn’t known what to expect. Not really. By the time he asks Shane if he wants to fuck him, Shane’s mouth has been everywhere. Ryan’s still shaking and for a moment there’s nothing, save Shane’s long-fingered hands on Ryan’s leg, on his stomach, and Ryan’s still reeling from the heat of Shane’s mouth. Briefly, teeth scrape against the inside of Ryan’s thigh and then Shane sits up and says, a little hesitantly, breathlessly. “I— we don’t have anything, but yeah.”  
  
“Maybe _you_ don’t,” Ryan says, and rolls off the bed, a little wobbly. “A ghost-hunter always comes prepared.”  
  
“What are you— _what_?” Shane asks, laughing a little. Ryan chucks a bottle at him. He bats it out of the air before it hits him, and picks it up. “You _bought lube_?” Shane asks, dropping onto his back, laughing. “In case the _ghosts_ wanted to get nasty?”  
  
Ryan’s flushed, but he was already, as he comes back. “There’s condoms, too. And no, not for the fucking ghosts, you moron.”  
  
“Aren’t we brazen,” Shane says in a caricature voice Ryan can’t place, and immediately forgets about, as Shane catches his shoulder and pushes him down onto the mattress, pinning him there. He holds Ryan’s eyes. “You want to?” he asks him, suddenly serious. His eyes are searching.  
  
“Dude. I _bought lube_. I think I’m pretty serious.”  
  
Shane makes a face like _I suppose that logic is good enough_. “Okay,” he says. He pulls away and picks up the bottle again, examining it. “Hey, Ryan?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“I— what if you… I mean, how do you want to do this?”  
  
“I thought you would. Be the one to, uh— you’re the expert.”  
  
~*~  
  
“I’m not the expert.”  
  
“But you’ve—”  
  
“I— would you? Would you do it?” Shane asks, because there’s a part of him that wants that kind of— he wants to give that to Ryan. He wants to open himself up to him, nothing up his sleeves, nothing to hide behind. Vulnerable. He wants to feel that, maybe just once. Prove to Ryan that he _does_ trust him.  
  
And Ryan’s looking at him, and his pupils are blown wide and dark, and Shane thinks he’s fucking beautiful and that, maybe this time, thanks to the internet and Ryan’s ridiculous preparedness, and how fucking crazy Shane is for him… maybe it will be good. Despite himself, Shane suddenly starts laughing. “I can’t believe you brought this with you—”  
  
“Yeah, well… aren’t you glad now,” Ryan says, over Shane’s laughter.  
  
“Shut up, shut up, Ryan,” Shane says, still cackling.

___

It takes a long time. It takes a little trial and error, but it’s not rocket science either, and there’s none of the judgement, none of the anxiety Shane felt the first time he did this, when he was in college.  
  
“Ow _fuck_ ," he says at one point and Ryan’s apologizing, but Shane’s already laughing, his breath hot and shaky against Ryan’s shoulder, his throat. They leave faint red marks and bruises on one another’s skin, holding on as tightly as they are, pulling blood vessels to the surface in purple bursts.  
  
They manage it, eventually, Ryan pressed into him as deeply as he can and for a moment they just stay there, just breathing. Shane eventually feels Ryan shift, the muscles of his arm sliding beneath the bend of Shane’s knee and he opens his eyes to meet Ryan’s. “You okay?” he whispers, and he wonders why they’re like this. Why they always go so quiet.  
  
Ryan nods. “You?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
And then Ryan presses forward, somehow deeper, and they lose themselves to this rhythm that is unselfconscious and honest — and it makes more sense than anything else on earth in that moment, Shane thinks. It is closer than two people have ever been, it is the most whole he can ever remember himself feeling, and afterwards, even when Ryan gets up to get rid of the condom, Shane doesn’t feel like he’s lost that — that feeling of completion.  
  
Ryan collapses down beside him on the bed again, after they’ve used tissues and maybe a little bit of the sheets to clean themselves up and Shane looks up in time to catch Ryan’s eyes, and, like he can’t help himself, Ryan just beams at him, and Shane laughs and reaches out to mess up his hair.  
  
And then they sleep, Shane wrapped around Ryan’s back like he’s supposed to be there. Like he fits. And he thinks, maybe, he does.

___

The next morning the rain has stopped, and the sun’s already burning off the fog. Ryan and Shane are following the crew’s car back to the airport to fly back to Los Angeles and Ryan’s already talking about the next place on the list. He just got the confirmation email a few minutes before.  
  
Shane’s quiet, leaning against his window, his eyes on the scenery as he listens.  
  
“We’re definitely going to find something this time,” says Ryan. “Better watch out, Shaniacs!”  
  
“Mm, yeah, I don’t think so,” Shane says, playing along, as always.  
  
“Believe it, baby,” Ryan tells him, and then, as Shane sits up straighter, a little gingerly, and rolls a kink out of his neck instead of responding, Ryan continues: “Ugh, I’m Shane, I don’t believe in anything." He says it in that voice that he always uses when he’s mocking him.  
  
Ryan’s waiting for Shane’s comeback and Shane breathes a laugh, because he sort of expected getting swept up in something to happen all at once. Like maybe a ghost would punch him in the face, and he’d think _Wow, ghosts_ are _real_ , but maybe it’s quieter than that, gentler. Maybe it doesn’t come all at once.  
  
Ryan glances over, and their eyes meet for a moment, and Shane feels warm. He looks away first and says:  
  
“Huh. Maybe I do.”

_fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys. Thank you. I had so much fun writing this! I really hope you like it. <3


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